Numbers
by sereace
Summary: They are more than what their names are. Either in their eyes, or in those of the people around them. DISCLAIMER: Don't own Dark Angel. I remembered that I forgot to put it in the document itself, so. Stupid Me. DISCLAIMER: Don't own Dark Angel!
1. Zero to Three

**Numbers**

Author: sereace

Pairing: **Max/Alec**, or at least the implication of it. For now.

Warnings: First, the pairing. If you don't like that, the big, bright, **X** button is right there for you to click on. Next, everything is kinda metaphorical or figurative when I write. So um, sorry? sheepish grin But I think I'm pretty literal on this one, so. I don't update very often – mostly, I write only when the mood strikes me, or when the muse is running around unchained.

**Summary:** They are more than what their names are.

Author Notes: First foray in this fandom. I _think_ I have everything straight, but if you notice inconsistencies with the fic from the show, please leave feedback. I **need** a beta! Help! Don't I repeat, **don't**, flame me, because everything that's in this you've already been warned of. But, constructive criticism is always welcome (so please, uh, help me!). Along with tricks and treats:D Plus, if you haven't read **And Still Hope** by alethia over at **Raising Hell**, please, please do so. It is the_best_ Dark Angel fic ever to be written in the face of the planet. And for the record, we're not even friends, and I'm promoting her fic. It is that good. I promise.

_**Zero**_

Questionable morale and favoritism aside, the boy was a sight to behold. There's really nothing like watching one of your children become who they are meant to be – Manticore's golden boy, _his_ finest, if he does say so himself – on the prowl.

Hunting.

_Winning._

"X5-494," he mouthed, silently, because he knew the repercussions should this particular one catch wind of him. Lydecker wasn't a superstitious man, but he wasn't stupid either. He's not about to risk his cover just because he was proud of one of his creations.

Never mind that he's in another building, a block over from Foggle Towers, only seeing what he's seeing thru the help of a little bit of luck, and a lot of technology. It isn't helping that Sandeman is a paranoid nut that Lydecker is believing a little bit more everyday. But still, nothing like a practically 10,000 year old selective breeding cult to get over your wonder at being able to splice DNA _of different species_ and put it all together and have your instant perfect little soldiers.

So he watched as 452 stood, looking lost in the middle of the room, telling the…Ordinary that he should go, that they should escape, unaware that the most powerful of Manticore's elite was waiting just outside the door, ruthless, dedicated, _set._

Binoculars and 'security' cameras: it was a very good thing they survived the Pulse.

Ah, 452. "Max," And this one came out audibly, and Lydecker saw Sandeman smirk.

"You do know that if he kills her, we'll be short of the cure."

Lydecker allowed a small chuckle escape. "It's your fault. You sent Renfro in, had me usurped, had her send 494 to follow Max, who, for all the information you coded in her genes, did not even suspect 494 of the trap he was cornering her in."

A grunt, before the man retorted, "The Conclave was moving in. I had to do something to counter them."

"Right," Lydecker paused, seeing Max and Logan Cale kiss.

"He's supposed to be assassinated and they _kiss_," Sandeman stated, and Lydecker cannot say whether he's amused, or frustrated. Or just being sarcastic. "And _what_ is 494 doing?"

Lydecker watched, as Logan Cale practically melt through the floor, and 494 snark his way in. "We should really have used the ones with audio."

In the other building, two of his best faced off. With 494 barely putting up resistance.

There was a thoughtful pause of the man beside him, and Lydecker held his breath as 494 practically waiving the battle to Max. He cleared his throat, "Sandeman," he started, uncertain how he could explain the performance of the boy that's surpassed his own records. What Lydecker didn't expect was the expression of amusement so clearly seen on the face of a man he rarely even seen but frown.

Sandeman smirked, a light in his eyes that hasn't been there for a very long time, and said, "Well, at least we know the cure is still probable."

Lydecker allowed his mouth to curve a little upwards, "I'll be sure to relay them the message next time I meet them for lunch. 494, 452: Your copulation is imperative to the survival of humankind. The blood of your unborn child will provide the cure against a virus that will send the world spiraling into second darkness." He turned to Sandeman, and saw the other man chuckle. Lydecker shrugged himself, as he saw 452 run back to Manticore. "It's worth a shot."

Sandeman turned from the window and headed for the kitchen, shaking his head in amusement. "I still can't believe you actually believed that one."

_**One**_

Their first meeting was a boot on his chest, in a cell with a bunk that had soft, used sheets and smelled like her. Since then, he never closed his eyes before sleep without that particular organoleptic detail pushing its way on the forefront of his mind.

Their second meeting was the thrill of the chase. Deception.

Their third meeting was the floor, another man, a fight. Duty, mission, discipline. _Death._Questions.

Their fourth meeting was a kid in her arms, blood, a lighter and a knife, and the smell of burning flesh he never thought he would be able to associate with her. She is, after all, an 09-er. A deserter. A _traitor._ She brought chaos in his ordered world.

But, with it, freedom.

_**Two**_

She had always been alone. In Manticore, during drills and training exercises, she would always excel.

When they escaped, she was alone.

There was always no one inside, no one who understood. She set up barricades and checkpoints and base camps all around her and no one ever dared cross the line from where she stopped them, because no one did get that she drew the line.

When he came, he didn't only understand – he spoke her language. Better than her, sometimes. He didn't only have barricades and checkpoints and base camps – he had sentries, he had hounds, he had land mines, and elaborate traps everywhere in between. He was bigger, better, sharper. _Darker._ And she didn't know how to handle that, because she had never been the lesser one. She had always been the one with the bigger secrets, the better at evasion, the sharper tongue. But for the first time, in the damp, dark of Seattle outside the clutches of Manticore, she wasn't alone in the abyss.

_**Three**_

She used to look at him.

It was the first he noticed that she wasn't doing anymore, aside from the touching, because it wasn't like they touched all the time before the virus. So it was the looking, because _that_, they did all the time. Well, at least _he_ did all the time, because it's not like he's a genetically enhanced supersoldier who can tell when other genetically enhanced supersoldiers are looking at him.

He snorted to himself, '_Heh. Bitter much?'_ And damn, but it was annoying how that inner voice is even beginning to sound like the cause of his…frustrations.

So, looking. He looked, she looked, and then he looked some more. It was pathetic, how he followed, _follows,_ her like a dog on a leash, practically begging for the scraps she would throw his way. He doesn't blame her, _really,_ he doesn't, because he knew he brought that upon himself, because he _couldn't help it._ Idly, the cyberjournalist wondered if this was what the average Sector Police feels, being addicted to authority, to the money, to the _power_. She had that effect, like the drugs that so proliferated the streets of Seattle these days, and boy does he feel old when he can remember what Pre-Pulse Seattle was like, a powerful, intoxicating drug that brings beautiful promises, and you _know, know_ that everything was just, _is_, a hallucination. A figment of the imagination. Funny also, how she doesn't seem to know the effect she has. Logan used to think that she knows and just doesn't use it, because like every person with actual, raw power, she didn't want it. She complained about her…transgenicism, all the time that Logan felt justified about his theory, until _he_ came, sauntering in his room with a gun deceptively casually in hand speaking like someone who wasn't Manticore. When he wasn't lying on his floor, dying due to a retrovirus targeted specifically to his DNA sequence, he saw what it was to actually have power and try to confine it.

And then it started. Alec looked at Max, and Logan never knew what to call it, because it was too intense a stare to be observant, less concentrated to be cataloging. But Logan knew he's seen that stare, all the time, every time he was with Max and they entered a new place. What was it she used, ah, _casing._ So Alec cased Max, stripped her down layer by layer, studied every angle, considered every single detail about Max that no one should ever be able to do. Well, no one human at least. He was sure that for their kind, _that_ was S.O.P. And Max had no defense against that, because no one looked deeper. No one_used_ to be deeper before, and now that there was, deeper, darker, more complicated, well. Curiosity killed the cat, and so the saying goes.

So Max started looking back at _Alec_. Logan didn't notice it at first, but he's human. Or an Ordinary, as the transgenics he's associated with has started calling him. What he had first realized was that Max wasn't looking back at him anymore. He didn't become Eyes Only just because he had the money and the brains to execute a hack, so he watched, and every so often, followed her gaze. It was like watching a train wreck, like going to the kitchen to get the spoon which you would use to gouge your eyes out. Because, Max had never met anyone who needed more than a passing glance to categorize, someone who was. More. Alec was everything more. More Manticore. More secrets. More lies. More than Logan Cale.

His mobius strip went on with the premise of Logan stares at Max staring at Alec staring at Max sometimes and less and less glancing at Logan. He doesn't need Einstein in his cocktail to know who the variable was in that equation.

**TBC**


	2. Four

**Numbers**

Author: sereace

**Disclaimer: The following characters, settings, and, uh, everything else, are the property of their respective owners. Author is in no way related to owners, creators, producers of **_**Dark Angel**_. **No copyright infringement is intended. **

Pairing: **Max/Alec**, or at least the implication of it. For now.

Summary: A prolific writer knows that a composition is the sum of its parts.

A/N: Hm, I have problems writing Original Cindy. I love the girl and all, but she's just too challenging for me. Plus, I have issues writing words as they're pronounced but I really tried, so. And I don't know what possessed me to think of writing using Sketchy! wails As a result, they've become a little bit OOC, just because of their speech. Anyone who can help me write them, please help me. And to RRaine, thanks for the offer and the comment! And that goes to everyone else, too! Thank you!

Reviews: Are my cream puff. And I really, really, really like them. :D

_**Four**_

So. Half an hour in the loo and the world comes to an end. He thought he'd thrown up the two pitchers of beer that he'd won from the bet with Skye, and the three shiny, white tablets he'd scored from a dealer, but apparently, mixing alcohol with…whatever the dealer gave him was bad. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, actually hearing himself do so, and opened them.

Huh.

Maybe it was time to talk to a shrink.

"Fool! Would you _close your mouth_?"

'_It was the lilting of her speech that always gave Cindy away,'_ Sketchy thought to himself, a distinct sound of hand meeting face, and he had to blink. '_Okay, so also the hitting.'_ "Ouch, O.C. Can't you give a poor guy a break?" He raised a hand and rested it upon his cheek. Damn, the woman has an arm on her.

"There were _flies_ flyin' close to your mouth, an' I'ma not gonna see anyone, friend or no, eating flies." O.C. gave a shudder. "That's just, bleh." And the sound she made after that gave _him_ shudders. He shrugged. "Well, thanks, O.C., but next time, please just _tell_ me. There's no need to follow Max's example – speaking of which, is that _Max_ over by the bar, _talking_ to _Alec_?"

O.C. rolled her eyes, huffing a little. "Her boy's havin' a tough time."

Now it was Sketchy's turn to roll his eyes. "Come on, O.C. That's so not the only reason why she's hangin' out with him!"

She turned to face him, eyes narrowing. "What on _ earth_ are you on about, dickwad?"

Sketchy snorted, but only quietly. His head's beginning to throb. "O.C. half the time Alec's havin' a hard time is because of Max."

"_What?!"_

"O.C., don't tell me you don't see it."

"See _what?!" _O.C. practically screamed, her voice beginning to sound shrilly. Sketchy loved O.C., but high pitched voices and a throbbing headache plus a detox are not to mixed together.

"The way that Max forces Alec to do what she does. You know, be," and at this Sketchy wriggled her fingers and dropped his voice, "Max-the-Male-version. Or Logan-the-second. Or, some days, and man, you should see Alec whenever this Max the Conformer appears: Be-Anyone-Else-But-Alec. It's enough to drive any man insane!" And then Sketchy paused for breath, looking at O.C. looking at him like he'd lost his head sometime from his journey from their table to the loo and back. Which he so did not, because, _hello_, he could totally feel the throbbing headache. "What? I'm just sayin'!"

And O.C. was doing this thing when she looked at you, eyebrows raised, fingers drumming on the table, like you were a hair product she should discard or refill.

He sort of swallowed pass the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. Lo and behold! He learned something new today, like: do not talk to O.C. about Max and Alec when coming down from a high. Definitely hazardous to your health.

And then just at that moment, Max flopped on the seat next to O.C., fuming. "I can't believe it!" Max tilted her head to one side, then amended herself, "Actually, I _can_ believe it. He's Alec, after all." Pause, before she grabbed a glass of beer, and ugh, it was too soon for him to see someone drink beer, tipped it, and drank it straight. Sketchy thought he would acquaint himself with his breakfast _yesterday._ Then Max, set the glass back, their table rattling at her wake. "Damn, how hard is it to answer a freakin' simple question anyway? It's not like he's gonna drop dead on the floor the moment he _actually_ answers something!"

'_Well,'_ Sketchy thought, _'Stranger things have happened in Seattle.'_

"Boo, getting this worked out over him is _not_ helping."

Max grunted, and it goes to show that gorgeousness does go a long way because Sketchy was sure if another girl did that he'd be disgusted. With Max, it was just a Max thing she did. Sketchy looked back to where Alec was, saw him just as he was standing up, and turned back and faced Max. "He's leaving," he said, glass inclined towards the direction where Alec stormed off.

Max's head turned so fast Sketchy got a mouthful of hair, then a hastily thrown "Gotta blaze, guys, see you tomorrow!" was all he and O.C. got. He looked to see O.C. following Max's form as she waded the crowds of Crash, then as she went up the stairs, and finally disappeared as the door shut, her left eyebrow raised. Sketchy raised both hands, palms out. "Woah! What'd I do?"

O.C. rolled her eyes, before settling on him again. "Honestly, doesn't that remind of something?"

Sketchy had to think hard, and he came up with a blank. Which showed on his face, judging from the exasperated look on O.C.'s face. He shrugged. "I don't even know _what_ should remind me of something. Or what I should even be remembering."

"Sketchy, come _on_, don't go proving Normal being all right by being an actual reprobate! That," she jerked her thumb in the direction where their friends had gone, "wasn't that a déjà vu?"

Sketchy sort of blinked. "What, Max leaving scorch marks all over Crash in her dire need to get to Logan?" O.C. was looking at him like she wanted to kill her, which made him pause, rewind and play. And promptly choke all by his lonesome. O.C. eventually took pity on him and thumped his back.

"Well, talk about comin' down to a realization!"

Sketchy sort of waved his hands all over and O.C. stopped her ministrations, "Well, you could've warned a poor guy! I was sort of high, you know!"

This time, he got a thump on his head for all his self-pitying. "Fool! Did you honestly _not_ see it comin'?"

Sketchy shot her a sardonic look, "I'm a _guy_, O.C.! Also, _what_ could possibly have clued me in? _Besides_ the head thumping, punching, insulting –"

"Okay!" She cut in, "Okay, cut my boo some slack, a'ight? She's just new to this," she sort of waved her hands all over and Sketchy didn't even pretend to follow, so O.C. sighed, "Liking a guy thing."

Sketchy snorted a "Yeah," which earned him a sharp look from O.C., with sharper words to top it all, "What's that even s'posed to _mean_?"

Sketchy shrugged. "Cin, Max wasn't like this with Logan – she wasn't all, you know. Physical. And I don't even mean it in a guy way, it's just." He paused, surprised to see his friend actually listening to him. _'Hm, will wonders never cease?'_

"What? Just _what_?" Prompted O.C.

"Violent? Hell, I don't know, O.C., okay? Guys aren't made to _talk_ about things like these!" He is _so_ not getting even a little bit hysterical. The perspiration on his hairline is just because Crash is getting crowded. Totally.

"But you actually got point, Sketch."

'_Huh.'_ "Huh."

"See, with Logan, she was all just all butterflies and flowers—"

"And _pasta_." Sketchy had to say it because, man, if you have someone as hot as Max in front of you, you don't exactly _think_ of pasta.

O.C. banged a fist on their table, "Yeah!"

"And with Alec she's all punch him on the chest, kick him on the shin, thump him on the head, and insult him with every breath he makes?"

"And I thought you were getting' on with my program, you scoundrel!" O.C. has a great voice, really, except when she's sort of harping on you for being stupid. And wow, O.C.'s been listening to Normal lately, she's even quoted him on scoundrel. Huh.

"O.C. hey, I'm sorry, okay? I'm just not seeing how her constant ragging on Alec for simply existing is equivalent to her bein' all hot and bothered for him as she is with Logan, okay? You have seen how chicks dig Alec, right? They don't exactly touch him with the intent of leaving bruises." He blinked, and O.C. blinked, and Sketchy had to concede. "Okay, so maybe they want to leave bruises but not the kind that Max does. Nope. Chicks want Alec for the horizontal mambo. Or the vertical, I guess, 'coz Alec said something some time about this girl he had—"

"_So_ not interested in Alec's sex life, Sketchy!"

"Right. Sorry, sorry."

O.C. reached for a glass, drank, and set it down, obviously preoccupied because it was his glass she drank from. "So anyway, the point is, I _think_ my girl has a thing for Alec."

"Aside, of course, from the thing she has with Logan."

"Shut up."

"Just sayin'."

"Shut up."

"But," and here Sketchy had to smile a little bit, because it was kinda funny if you think about it the right way, "If you consider the way Alec frets about Max whenever she's gone and he's not with her," He had to pause to commit to memory the way O.C.'s jaw just dropped, "Or the way he thumps himself on the back when he makes her smile," He never really thought O.C.'s eyes were big, but hey, shock really does work wonders to the system, "Or the way he gets scary when Max is obviously not okay, and no," he raised a hand in the universal motion of wait at O.C.'s best innocent look, "I'm not really as blind and stupid as everyone thinks." As an afterthought, he added, "Please don't lie to me now."

O.C. smiled, and Sketchy smiled, because he understood that everyone has secrets. And if Max and Alec thought they were fooling anyone with their 'No we have _no _history!' speech, well. He'll let them believe that, because he's a great friend, and all.

"You're a great friend, Sketchy."

"Yeah, I totally rock!" And they had to have a toast to that because it wasn't often he got toasted. Or, you know, celebrated. And, really, even if it just used to be him, O.C. and Max, Alec is…Alec. The cool guy who everyone looks at and listens to, with whom everyone's just a little in love with '_No matter how high that Wall of Denial is, Max, when the day comes that Alec chooses to scale that is the day I will have my own column in _The Washington Post' and still decides to hang out with him no matter how deep the trench he'd dug for himself.

And that he's actually gotten laid just because Alec's been seen hangin' out with him is just a bonus.


End file.
